


call it what you want

by whataboutateakettle



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutateakettle/pseuds/whataboutateakettle
Summary: “You can tell your parents I’m your friend, your colleague, your personal shopper.”// three times T.K. is a friend and one time he isn’t.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 13
Kudos: 274





	call it what you want

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just have to absolutely abandon any wip that you've been working on and just write something that feels good. and sometimes you sit down to get a couple hundreds words out of your system and you end up with this. bon appetit. 
> 
> title taken taylor swift's _call it what you want _, but if I really recommend you listen to daylight and peace if you want to feel what I was channeling while writing this.__
> 
> p.s. this fic purposefully ignores other... aspects of the show's storyline. you can pretend it's going on in the background or not :)

Carlos’ alarm rips him out of his sleep, and there’s movement in the sheets as Carlos reaches across to turn it off. T.K. pushes his face deeper into the pillow, expecting warm arms to come back to him in some way. And perhaps he’s too asleep to keep track of time, but moments pass and there’s no soft embrace, no lips against his skin, no low whispers in his ear. 

He lifts his head, still sleep-heavy, pushes himself up on his elbow, one eye blinking open against the light. “Babe?”

Carlos is still in bed, he’s relieved to find, but sitting up against the headboard, watching him carefully. It’s not the first time Carlos has watched him sleep, but this feels different, less adoration and more apprehension. He rubs at his eyes, blinking emphatically a few times until he feels more awake. Carlos’ lips are pressed together, like they do when he’s trying to choose his words carefully. T.K.’s mind stumbles back through last night, their conversation in the living room, their hands clasped together, and later, their kisses on the stairs, the words they said and didn’t need to say.

“What can I do?” Carlos asks, suddenly, and he’s pulled back to the moment. 

He smiles widely and leans himself forward to press his lips to Carlos’ bicep. It’s the closest he can get without sitting up properly. “I can think of a few things.” 

“No -” Carlos starts, and then shakes his head and huffs a gentle laugh. “Well _yes_ . But I mean, what can I do to make you feel _safe_? With me.”

He sighs, and shuffles himself up into a sitting position facing Carlos, rests a hand on Carlos’ leg over the sheets.

“I want you to feel safe in this relationship, T.K. As safe as I do with you,” Carlos continues, meeting T.K.’s gaze briefly, before reaching out and taking the hand that was on his thigh, intertwining their fingers. “Maybe I’m not ready to rock the boat with my family, but I want - I need to make sure that you know.”

Carlos meets his gaze again and T.K. swallows. “Know what?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. He just likes hearing it, likes to remind himself it's true.

“That you have someone who loves you,” Carlos says, sincerely, the corner of his lips quirking up like he can’t stop the smile from spilling through. 

There’s a second where he considers making a joke of it, or grinning and reassuring Carlos that he knows this, that it’s fine. But then a voice in the back of his head reminds him that it wouldn’t be fair to either of them to sweep this under the rug. Not after they worked so hard last night to talk to each other, and to listen to each other. And here Carlos is. Listening to him. 

He squeezes Carlos’ hand gently, takes a breath and looks him in the eye as he answers. “I meant what I said. I’m fine being your friend, to your family, to anyone you need, okay? I really am. But I just…” He glances up at the wall, trying to find the right words to explain what exactly he’s afraid of. “I need to know you have my back through this. That we’re in this together. Even when it comes to your family. Not that I’m asking you to choose between - I would never -”

“I get it,” Carlos interrupts him graciously as he brings T.K.’s hand up and presses it to his lips.

“You do?” He breathes out, because he’s not sure if _he_ even really gets it. But Carlos nods, he’s smiling as he leans forward and, _God,_ T.K. loves that smile, and those lips and the whole person attached to them. He closes his eyes. 

“Now can we be unprofessional?” He asks, before feeling, finally, Carlos’ lips against his. 

* * *

For a few months T.K. could have tricked himself into thinking nothing ever happened. The only real change is that he’s stopped asking, hinting rather, to meet Carlos’ family, and in return Carlos has been more open about them. He’d always spoken about them, but it was almost like he was keeping them at arm’s length, all abstract anecdotes about his cousins' quinceañeras and adventures on the ranch. Now it feels like they are real people, people that Carlos wants him to know, and yet another part of Carlos he gets to love.

“My mom called today. They want me to come over on Sunday night.”

T.K. looks across to him. His hands are clenched around the steering wheel as they drive back from their date. He wonders for a moment why Carlos didn’t mention earlier, and then notes the way Carlos’ jaw is clenched, the way he’s staring straight ahead, more than simply focusing on the road. 

“Well yeah. It’s your birthday, they want to celebrate with you,” He says, tries to make sure his smile is casual, his tone light enough to show he’s taking Carlos’ lead on this. 

Carlos glances over at him for a second before returning his gaze to the road and he immediately unravels. His brow is furrowed, deep in worry, and T.K. wants to trip over himself to reassure him it’s fine. He holds his breath though, waits for Carlos to actually say something. 

“I know we were going to do something. Together. And I want to -” Carlos starts, voice rising until T.K. reaches over and runs his fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck, rubbing gently. He thinks of a younger Carlos, balancing on a tightrope between family and falling in love, scared of tipping on either side. 

“It’s _fine_. We can do something during the day. You should see your family,” He says, and he means it. They hadn’t even made any plans yet, and though T.K. does have a present, carefully wrapped and sitting in a drawer in his dad’s house, he doesn’t need a special occasion to actually give it to him. 

Carlos relaxes a little under his touch, something he’s come to expect and enjoys in equal measure, but T.K. can still feel the tension under his fingers, proof of whatever Carlos is still holding in. T.K. presses his fingers a little firmer into his skin and lets him take his time. 

Sure enough at the next red light Carlos takes a breath and starts slowly. “If you don’t want to or feel uncomfortable that’s totally fine. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. But I - uh - I asked my parents if I could bring a friend to dinner.”

“A friend?” T.K. asks just as the light turns green. Carlos turns his eyes back to the road but keeps talking. 

“I didn’t really think it through when I asked them. I just… I’m not ready to tell them yet, and I know what I'm asking you to do is -”

“Carlos, pull over.” T.K. interrupts him suddenly. 

“What?” Carlos asks, panic immediately rising in his voice. 

T.K. forces himself to be calm for both of them. “Just pull over, please.” 

This is not a conversation he wants to have when one of them has to look at the road. This is not a conversation he wants to have without holding his hand. Thankfully, Carlos finds a space on the side of the road pretty quickly, and T.K. is grateful for the lack of traffic on a Tuesday night. 

As soon as the car is parked, T.K. stretches over the armrest and cups Carlos’ face in his hands. “I’ll be there. And I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” 

Carlos stares at him, eyes warm and worried and T.K. just wants to kiss the pain off his face. “I just want them to know you’re important to me. Even if it’s not the… whole truth. Yet.”

T.K. smiles and leans even further, kisses Carlos firmly, hopes his words can be felt through his lips. Friend, lover, colleague, balancing pole. He doesn’t mind, he’ll take the job. 

“I’m sure I can keep my hands off you for one night,” he says when he pulls away. It’s a joke, meant to lighten the mood. But Carlos’ eyes light up in relief and T.K. knows he’d play the jester too, for years if it meant keeping the worry out of his brown eyes and loving mind. 

He drops a hand from Carlos’ cheek down to his chest, presses his fingers against the firm muscle. “As long as it’s not tonight,” he adds, smirk on his lips. 

Carlos grins then, rolling his eyes before reaching a hand up to pull him back into for another quick kiss, then pulling away. “So can I drive us home now?”

  
  


* * *

He’s fine. He’s going to be fine. The doctors have told him, and the nurses have told him, and he knows this and yet his heart still feels like it’s being squeezed out of his chest as he watches Carlos asleep on the hospital bed. 

It doesn’t help that there’s a gash on this side of his forehead, and a broken rib in his chest. He may have a bruised lung, the doctors said and wanted to keep him in for observation, just for the night. This isn’t the first time either of them have ended up in hospital, but this is the first time he’s had to sit at a bedside. He thinks of the big feelings Carlos talked about when he was lying in hospital with a gunshot wound and thinks it’s incomparable, the true size of his feelings right now. They’d weigh down the entire planet. 

He’s holding Carlos’ hand, has been holding Carlos’ hand for a while, watching him breath gently, alive, _okay_ . He can hear footsteps, assumes it’s just the nurses in the hall until he hears “ _T.K._?”

He looks up, dropping Carlos’ hand like it's burning, and gets up from the hospital chair he’s been calling home for the last few hours. “Mr and Mrs Reyes, hi!”

They know his name now at least, Carlos insisting he’d made a great impression at his birthday dinner months ago. He hasn’t had any reason to see them since, and wishes there wasn’t one now.

They’re polite, if a little confused, as they step into the room properly. “Were you there when it happened?”

“Uh, yeah. I was, we were responding to the same call,” T.K. nods. Andrea Reyes comes closer to the bed and T.K. steps back almost instinctively, trying to keep the balance. “Carlos was just leaving the scene actually when another car ran a red light and -”

Carlos’ dad, Gabriel, holds up a hand. “It’s okay, son. The nurse told us what happened. He’ll be okay, that’s all that matters.”

T.K. exhales. “He’ll be okay,” he nods and looks down at Carlos, who is stirring, blinking awake slowly, eyes meeting T.K.’s before they’re even fully open. 

“T.K.?”

“Carlos, you parents are here,” he says hastily and Carlos turns his neck, wincing a little. 

“Mama?”

“Mijo,” she murmurs, voice soft, caresses his cheek gently. 

Carlos looks like a little kid in his mother’s arms, and it hurts and warms T.K.’s heart at the same time. After a moment he has to look away, and ends up meeting Gabriel’s gaze. Warm, attentive, commanding, T.K. can see where Carlos gets it from. 

“I should - uh - leave you guys to it,” he says eventually, and moves around the bed. He sees Carlos frown but continues quickly, “It’s okay. You should talk to your parents. I’ll come back later.” 

He waves weakly, nods at Andrea and Gabriel before heading out of the room and down the hall. He takes the stairs down to the hospital cafeteria, buys an overpriced green juice and sits down to call his dad with shaking hands. 

His dad picks up on the first ring, probably expecting his call. “Hey, how’s Carlos doing?”

“He’ll be okay. He’s banged up, and they want to keep him overnight.” He plays with the lid of his juice bottle as he talks, focusing on bending the little plastic ring between his fingers. 

“Okay, that’s good,” His dad says matter-of-factly. His tone heavy with reassurance than anything else, one that T.K. is very familiar with. “They’re probably just being cautious.”

He nods in agreement, pauses for a moment. “His parents are here.”

“Oh. And they still don’t -”

“ _No_ ,” T.K. groans, “I had to lie to them and say that I was at the scene when Carlos got hurt. All they know is that I’m a friend and that we work together. I’m in the cafeteria now, I wanted to give them some time together.”

He feels the urge to see Carlos, to reassure himself once again that he’s okay, feels it and fights it. Takes another sip of his green juice. He deserves time with his parents. They deserve time with him, he reminds himself. 

“I’m sorry, son.” His dad sighs, “I know it must be hard not being able to be there.”

“It’s fine -”

“It doesn’t have to be fine, you know.”

He knows, it’s a conversation they’ve already had. His dad unsure that pretending is a good idea, and T.K. unsure that his dad has any say in T.K.’s relationships, especially when he’s still trying to figure out what he’s doing with _his mother._ “If it helps Carlos, it’s fine,” he reiterates. 

“He’s lucky to have you, T.K,” his dad says after a moment, and there’s a rustle in the background and he adds “Your mom says she’s glad Carlos is okay.”

“Tell Mom I’ll call her later,” T.K. says before saying goodbye and hanging up. 

If he’s stayed on the phone any longer he’d wind up talking about how it felt to hear the news of the crash, from Judd, who’d heard it from Grace, how it felt to get to the hospital and see a nurse stitching up the cut on his arm. He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to think about going home and sleeping alone tonight while Carlos sleeps in a hospital bed. Doesn’t want to think about if Grace hadn’t heard about the crash on the dispatch, about if the driver had hit Carlos’ car a foot closer to the driver’s seat. 

He’s fine. He’ll be fine and they’ll be fine. 

T.K. drinks his green juice. 

* * *

He’s staring at several different cans of beans, trying to figure out which ones he actually needs when he hears a faintly familiar voice ask. “Excuse me, T.K.?”

He spins around on his heels and finds himself face to face with Carlos’ mother. 

“Mrs. Reyes, hello,” he says politely. This is the first time they have interacted without Carlos in the room, and he’s not exactly sure what to expect. It’s been weeks since Carlos came home from the hospital. He’d only recently gone back to work, still on desk duty as his rib continued to heal. 

It’s his day off though, and apparently, when Carlos had given him a carefully curated list of ingredients and told him to go to a special store twenty minutes away, he’d failed to mention that his mother also shops there. 

“You can call me Andrea,” she smiles at him. “I thought I recognized you. I just wanted to say thank you. Carlos told me you helped him after he got out of the hospital.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he smiles back. It wasn't quite _nothing_. Carlos is a terrible person to have on bed-rest, too considerate and eager to help to actually rest and recover as per the doctor’s orders.

“We told him he could stay with us for a few days, but he insisted on going home. It’s good that he has a friend like you. I worry about him living all alone.”

T.K. nods, and remembers then that their relationship status is not the only thing Andrea does know. She also doesn’t know that Carlos has changed his emergency contact from his parent’s to T.K. He’d protested, but Carlos had taken his hand, explained that he trusted T.K. call his parents if anything ever happened to him, but that he needed to know that T.K. would be there too. 

“Carlos is -” he starts, trying to find the right words, the _appropriate_ words. “He’s the first friend I made when I moved from New York. So I’m just glad I could help.”

Andrea nods, understanding, then glances down at the basket in his hands. 

“Are you making tamales?” She asks, eyeing the ingredients. 

“Oh. Actually Carlos is making them - for a group of our friends. There will be lots of people there. Not lots - of course, because of the - other friends from work so we already see them,” T.K. laughs awkwardly, tries to control the words coming out of his mouth. “He’s at work, so he asked him to pick up some things. Actually, I can’t seem to figure out which one of these beans he meant - do you know?”

He points behind him to the cans he had been looking at, and Andrea shakes her head, reaches over and grabs yet another different can off the shelf and hands it to T.K. “These are the ones you want. Carlos always buys the wrong ones.”

* * *

T.K. picks through the laundry basket in the bathroom upstairs, trying to understand why Carlos insists on folding his clothes before he puts them in there. There’s a few more of his own pieces thrown over the back of the chair in Carlos’ - in _their_ bedroom. He needs to keep reminding himself. Their bedroom. Their laundry. He hunts down some of his socks under the bed, _their bed_ , throws them in the basket and carries the whole thing downstairs.

“Hey Babe,” he says, reaching the bottom step. “A cold wash is fine for your stuff, right?”

Carlos looks up from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, half their breakfast ingredients already out, staring at his phone as he reads through the recipe. “You’re doing my laundry?”

T.K. pauses mid-step, blinks slowly. “Technically it’s our laundry, because it’s mixed up -”

His mild panic is eased by Carlos stepping around the counter and reaching him in a couple of steps, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I just,” he starts as he pulls away, shaking his head. T.K. leans forward a little chasing his lips. “I love that this is your home now.”

“I love it too,” he agrees. “So...?”

Carlos laughs, “A cold wash is fine.”

T.K. nods emphatically and as he steps around Carlos to continue through to the laundry, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” He asks over his shoulder. 

“No,” Carlos says, and moves to open it. 

T.K.’s just started loading the washer when he hears Carlos’ voice from the doorway. 

“Mama, Dad? What are you doing here?” 

T.K. freezes, holding his breath. Carlos’ parents don’t know he’s moved in, and he racks his brain to think of a decent platonic reason he would be at Carlos’ home before 10am on a Saturday, doing the laundry. It’s not like Carlos’ suddenly needed a roommate after years of living alone. At least he’s dressed, he thinks, and can probably just make like he was hanging out on their day off. 

They’d talked about it, when Carlos’ asked him to move in, and decided to cross that bridge when they got to it, when Carlos was ready to call it a bridge. 

Carlos’ mother is making small talk before she suddenly changes the topic from the drive across town to something else. A move T.K.recognizes and respects because it’s one his own mother would pull as well. 

“You remember our neighbor María, right?”

“Sure,” Carlos responds. 

“She was out for dinner last night, and she says she saw you. She said she was sure it was you and that you were with some friends, but before she could go say hello, she said you were kissing someone. A boy.”

T.K. feels his throat constrict. From where he’s listening he can’t tell whether the emphasis was on _kissing_ or on _boy_ , but either way he can feel the tension in his bones. He wants nothing more than to be holding Carlos’ hand, hates that he’s out there all alone, but he’s frozen. Scared of making the situation even worse. 

There’s a long pause, and then Carlos’ voice, even softer than before. “Tia María knows I’m gay, mama.”

“She knows,” T.K. pictures Andrea waving the fact off like it’s nothing. “But we said, no that couldn’t be Carlos. Because Carlos would tell us if he was in a relationship.”

“ _Mama_ …”

There’s a moment of silence and then Carlos’ dad finally speaks, “Carlos, is it true? Are you.. dating someone?”

T.K.’s not sure he’s taken a single breath this entire time, doesn’t know whether to run or hide, knows that wherever he should be during this conversation it’s not hiding next to a pile of dirty laundry. But he can’t leave, the only way out is through Carlos and his parents. He steps back to lean against the machine, forgetting that the door is still open and it crashes shut with a loud bang. 

_Crap_. There is no way they didn’t hear that. 

And sure enough, “Is there someone here Carlos?”

T.K. takes a deep breath and assures himself if he can walk through literal fire he can walk through this, before stepping out of the corner room. 

“Hi. Sorry! I really didn’t mean to eavesdrop - I just didn’t want to interrupt your - I should get going. Thanks for letting me hang out, Carlos.” He meets Carlos’ eye and mouths _sorry_ , “I’ll see you later. Mr and Mrs Reyes, it was great seeing you again.”

He’s just about made it past them when Carlos’ hand grabs at his wrist. “No, stay.”

“If your friend wants to go home, Carlos, let him.” His dad says, and the way he says the word friend sits heavy in the room. 

Carlos looks at him again, his fingers still wrapped around T.K.’s wrist, pressed against his pulse. Turns out, if it looks like a bridge and sounds like a bridge, they may have found the bridge.

“This is his home,” Carlos says, and then takes a breath. T.K. feels like he’s going to throw up but also like every organ in his body is humming and he twists his hand until his fingers are intertwined with Carlos’. Carlos drags his eyes away from T.K. to look at his parents.

“Mama, Dad. T.K. isn’t just a friend. He’s my boyfriend. I’m in love with him, and he lives here, with me.”

There’s a weighted silence in the room. T.K’s focused on Carlos, but he can feel both of his parents staring at him. 

“Mijo, why didn’t you tell us?” His mother asks eventually. A loaded question, T.K. thinks, and keeps his mouth shut. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to know. You never wanted to talk about it. Ever since I came out, it’s felt like you were just trying to forget I ever told you.” 

“That’s not true. We just -” Andrea starts, but stops herself, and then continues, this time in Spanish. T.K.’s not sure what she’s saying but Carlos’s eyes tell him what he needs to know. 

“Can I say something? I know it’s not my place,” He interjects, squeezing at Carlos’ hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Reyes. It’s not easy being a gay kid. It was scary for me growing up in New York, I can’t even imagine how it was for Carlos. But all that we want is to find someone to love and who loves us, just like anyone else. I was lucky enough to find that love in your son. He, uh, brought the color back into my world. And I know that he - that we would both love to be able to share that love with you. So that you can see that your son is safe and happy and loved.” 

He can tell Carlos is trying not to cry, eyes shiny and jaw clenched, and T.K. squeezes his hand even tighter. 

“You told me when I was 17 that you loved me. And now I want you to see me. For who I am.” Carlos adds, lifting up his hand that’s holding T.K’s. 

“You’re happy? His dad asks.

Carlos nods, “The happiest I’ve ever been, Dad.”

His parents have more questions, and aren't thrilled to find out how long Carlos has been keeping their relationship a secret, and somehow even less happy to know that Carlos has spent so much time with T.K.’s parents. But they seem open to him, his presence in Carlos’ life. Andrea even makes a joke about the tamales she caught T.K. shopping for, which he assumes is a good sign. Because Carlos has explained that the tamales themselves are no laughing matter.

Eventually they get up to leave, and Andrea hugs him and Gabriel shakes his hand, and it feels a little bit like a fresh start. They invite them both for dinner the following week, and T.K. readily accepts without checking his schedule, ready to swap a shift rather than miss it. 

They both hug Carlos tightly, and for a long time, and T.K. feels a wave of relief wash over him. Until Andrea pulls back a little, and looks Carlos directly in the eye. 

“Carlitos, your abuela. Perhaps best we don’t tell her. She’s so old, she won’t understand.”

T.K. watches as Carlos nods, says that it’s fine, swallows down his own thoughts for another time. Carlos’ parents are never going to be like his own, and maybe, for different reasons, that’s a good thing.

Carlos shuts the door behind them, his shoulders sagging and T.K. moves to him and wraps his arms around Carlos’s back before he can even turn around. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, presses his face into the back of Carlos’ neck.

Carlos doesn’t reply, not straight away. Instead he turns in T.K.’s arms, fits his head into the crook of T.K.’s neck, breathes in deeply. Eventually he lifts his head and nods. “Thank you.”

T.K. shakes his head, “For what?”

“For being patient, for staying.” _For jumping off the bridge with me._

T.K. can’t quite find the words to express what he’s feeling, how he would’ve done it for as long as it took, how he’s planning to stay forever if he can, but instead he just hugs him. 

“Should I go finish that laundry?” He asks eventually, voice light as he makes a move to step away, but Carlos keeps his hold on him, arms tight around his back. 

“In a bit,” he says. “And I’ll finish breakfast.”

T.K. relaxes into his arms again, stroking his palm along Carlos’ back. He doesn’t care about the laundry or the breakfast or either of their parents, or anything else. They’ve got time, they’ve got all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> two notes of unequal importance:
> 
> i wanted to find a balance with Carlos' parents, to find some validity in his concerns, while also having them be open/accepting/loving. 
> 
> i've decided that the laundry is behind whatever door is in the corner of Carlos' condo, right by the leather sofa. It could be a bathroom, a laundry room or a garage, but i need there to be a washing machine in there.


End file.
